Deja Vu
by rotterdam
Summary: Jack finds himself in the hands of Beckett once more but this time, events from his past are brought painfully to the present. The rating may go up.
1. Capture and Surprises

Jack Sparrow swayed jauntily down the harbour side towards his beloved Black Pearl, rum in one hand and the other gentle twirl

Jack Sparrow swayed jauntily down the harbour side towards his beloved Black Pearl, rum in one hand and the other gentle twirling one of the many beads in his hair. He walked up the gangplank, nodded at Pintel, who had chosen the short straw to stay on board for watch and made his way to his cabin.

Pintel stared after the Captain, shocked that he was back so soon from the various bars and whorehouses in Port Colona. _Blimey, that's a first, init', _he thought, as the lamps were lit in the cabin and small shafts of dim yellow light spread across the deck's black wood. Shrugging, he turned his back on the cabin and stared moodily back down the harbour, the distant sound of music and laughter drifting over to him over the sound of the waves gently lapping at the shore.

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As soon as the door closed, Jack slumped against it and yawned deeply. Straightening up, he first placed the bottle of rum on his cluttered mahogany desk, and proceeded to remove his coat, waistcoat, sash, until he wore only his breeches and shirt. He settled down at his desk and began sorting through the many papers discarded there to clear a little space. He could feel a small headache beginning to pound behind his eyes. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling, he continued to pick up random letters, smiling at the one from his father, before placing it tenderly in a draw. He folded the various maps and placed them too, in another draw. Once the desk was clear enough to be able to work comfortably on, Jack smiled to himself and fetched the ship's log from the largest of his bookshelves. Back at his desk, he rolled up his sleeves, opened a bottle of ink, took out a long quill and began writing.

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Unknown to Jack, he was being watched. A small group of cloaked people stood on the harbour, watching the Pearl intently. Jack was just visible through the windows at the back of the ship, bent over his desk and writing. The only other person they could see was the watchman, a slovenly looking person, who was dropping of to sleep where he sat.

"Shouldn't be too 'ard", one of the figures muttered. "I'll 'it the fat bastard over the 'ead, Ruth'll scream, an' if all goes to plan, 'e'll come out and then-", he made a violent motion in the air.

The others nodded their agreement.

The speaker broke away from the group, and crept up the gangway towards the sleeping Pintel. The intruder silently picked up a large block of wood and creeping nearer, deftly struck Pintel straight over the head. He dropped to the floor unconscious. The man quickly dragged Pintels body out of sight, and stealthily crept back to join his companions. He nodded to the others, and the smallest of them let out a piercing scream.

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The scream made Jack jump so hard he knocked the ink bottle flying. Pushing himself up, he walked over to the window and peered out into the night. The harbour side was deserted. Suddenly, the blood-chilling scream filled the night once again. Making his mind up to investigate, he shoved his boots back on, grabbed a bejewelled knife lying on the top of the chest of drawers and quietly opened his cabin door. The deck was deserted.

_Where the hell is Pintel? If that mangy turd is in a bar- _Jacksthoughts were broken off by a quiet scuffling coming from a side alley. He peered into the darkness. Walking softly forward, slightly crouched, Jacks eyes darted along the harbour. It was still deserted. He went down the gangplank and listened hard in the silence.

_Oh. Must have vanished, _Jack thought, letting the knife drop to his side. Suddenly, a noise behind him made Jack whip around in time to see two dark figures step out of the deep black night. With no time to cry out, Jack was kicked in the stomach. He fell to the ground, dropping the knife, as someone bundled a black sack over his head. Starting to struggle, he felt something hard collide with his head, and he sunk into oblivion. 

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Short and sweet but the chapters should get longer. Review if you want because I never know how the starts of stories sound.


	2. Enemies and Revelations

Mercer knocked lightly on the solid, polished Oak door of Cutler Beckett's quarters on the HMS Endeavour and waited for an ans

Mercer knocked lightly on the solid, polished Oak door of Cutler Beckett's quarters on the HMS Endeavour and waited for an answer. It swiftly came so Mercer quietly opened the door and slipped inside, careful as ever to shut it behind him. "We have him," was all he said. It was all that was needed.

"Good," said Beckett, who sat comfortably behind his desk and lay down his quill. "This time, he will not get away."

It was a threat and Mercer knew the consequences of such an occurrence. He would not be forgiven. "Do you wish to see him?" he asked carefully.

"No," said Beckett. "I think we can leave him to panic a while longer. I trust you have not spoken to him?"

"No sir," replied Mercer.

"It should stay that way for now," said Beckett, clasping his hands neatly in front of him and studying Mercer. "Have you paid your accomplices extra to keep their silence?"

Mercer nodded. "Of course, sir."

"Good. Anyway, he was meet me in due course but for now I have other pressing matters to attend to."

Mercer knew this meant the conversation was over.

"You know the bearings," was the final thing Beckett said, before Mercer bowed and slipped silently from the room.

He walked briskly but silently down the corridor and up a short flight of stairs onto the main deck. Nodding curtly at the Navy members who stood on guard there whilst they were in port, he proceeded across the deck and down another flight of stairs, this time much longer. They twisted down through the ship, starting off made of fine polished wood but as Mercer made his way lower and lower into the holds, the wood because rougher and cheaper. It didn't matter since no one of any importance usually came down this far into the ship. It was here that the prisoners were kept.

At that moment, there was only one prisoner, but one of utter importance to Beckett. It was a man who had wronged him in the past. A man who Beckett believed had got away too lightly and he wanted punished. And now he could.

He was in the cell furthest from the door and therefore, furthest from the light.

As Mercer approached, the prisoner didn't look up. He was sitting straight backed on the rough bench against the wall, looking down at his hands which were clenched in his lap. The trinkets adorning his hair waved lazily as the waves gently rocked the boat.

Mercer rapped on the metal barred walls of the cell with his cane.

The prisoner looked slowly up at him and stared at him in the eye, almost daring him to look away.

Mercer didn't. "If you argue you are punished. If you fight you are punished. If you try to escape you are shot. Understand?"

The prisoner had heard but made no movement.

Mercer held the stare for a few extra moments before turning sharply away and marching back up to the deck, leaving the solitary figure alone in the damp, dark brig.

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After what could have been hours, but were probably mere minutes, Jack moved from the position he had stayed in long after Mercer had left. He knew who Mercer was as the man had been in Beckett's service for years. Even after this length of time, he still made Jack's skin crawl.

Jack looked round at his surroundings again but didn't get up. He had explored his five foot square space many times already and knew there were no loose bars, large gaps, or more importantly, no half-pin-barrel hinges. But he knew this already. The brig of the HMS Endeavour had not changed at all in the fourteen years since Jack had last been there.

_Screaming… his screaming. The powerful smell of burning flesh and an unbelievable pain, which seemed to infect his whole body…_

Jack shook his head to clear the half formed memory and instinctively rubbed the Pirate brand mark on his right forearm. He tried not to remember the last time he had been in this brig and decided to shut his eyes and try to sleep. He wondered what his crew were doing or if they were searching for him. He also wondered why Beckett wanted him now, because although his captors had been very secretive about their identity, Jack had recognised his surroundings instantly.

Leaning his head back against the rough, tar strengthened walls of the hull, he tried to let the gently rocking of the boat soothe him to sleep.

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_He could hear her screaming… screaming his name but he couldn't reach her. Someone else was shouting now and it was getting louder and louder…_

Jack suddenly jumped awake as an East India Trading Company officer shouted at him again to wake up. Jack rubbed his eyes, trying to relive himself of the sound of distant screaming, which hadn't plagued his dreams for years. He presumed it was due to being back on this ship.

"Get up," said the officer again, unlocking the door this time. "You're wanted."

He held the door open for Jack, who stood stiffly and stretched. He didn't know if he had slept the night or not, but as he was led, handcuffed, up the familiar stairs to the deck, he knew it was daylight.

The bight sunlight was too much after the darkness of the brig and Jack found himself automatically screwing up his eyes in order to see. They had left the Port and from what Jack could see as he was marched by several EITC crew across the deck, land was nowhere in sight. They led him down a short flight of steps to the door to Beckett's cabin, which Jack still remembered. An EITC man knocked lightly on the door and pushed Jack into the room.

It had changed very little since the last time Jack has been there. And Beckett had changed little too. Jack noticed a few more lines on his forehead but no laughter lines around his eyes or mouth.

No one spoke as Beckett took the chance to study Jack too. "Jonathon Sparrow," he said after a few moments. "Or Jack, as you're now known as."

Jack didn't say anything.

"I've been searching for you for many years. I'm sure you knew that?"

Still Jack remained silent. He hadn't known that but had always stayed far from EITC ports out of habit. He had never chosen to search for Beckett.

"I realised as soon as I let you go fourteen years ago that you had been let off too lightly and tried to recapture you." He paused, straitening a few sheets of parchment. "But you're a slippery man to find." He looked back at Jack, not inviting him to sit. "I had to give up on you for many years because a sudden rise in piracy threatened many of my ships. it never occurred to me that you're disappearance and this were in fact linked. All the more reason for me to focus on capturing you now, don't you think?"

Jack shrugged, not letting any suppressed feelings move to his face.

"Come now Mr Sparrow," said Beckett, "You're an intelligent man. I'm sure you would do the same thing, wouldn't you? Re-punish a man if the first had not seemed to have worked? Because that was the problem," he continued, standing and approaching Jack. "I thought that branding you a pirate would ruin you, that it would be the worst thing for you. Worse than death. But I have to admit that I underestimated you. You seem to have grown to fit you're new role."

Jack glared straight at Beckett, angry at the tone Beckett was using to evaluate his life. He acted as though it had been a simply transaction, to move from a respected EITC captain to a pirate. How wrong he was.

"But I was wrong to let you escape and now I have you in my possession, and you won't escape this time.

In a sudden movement, Beckett backhanded Jack across the face, throwing all his strength into it. Jack's head spun to the side and his cheek blazed in sudden pain. He seized the front of Jack's shirt and hissed venomously, "I'll make you pay this time around. Mercer!"

The door opened suddenly behind Jack and strong hands pulled him back, away from Beckett who turned back to his desk.

Mercer hauled Jack out onto the deck and whistled sharply. Two crewmembers who had apparently been standing ready seemed to suddenly appear leering at Jack's side. They dragged him over to the mast and it was at this point when Jack realised what was about to happen to him. _Bastards._ He had only ever been whipped twice before; once in a Singaporean prison and once fourteen years before, the last time Beckett had arrested him. They pulled his shirt off and threw it down He tried to shut down his mind to the pain before the first whip lash came but as his arms were dragged round the mast and tied there, all he could think about was the feeling of tearing flesh.

And pain is always worse when you know it's coming.

Jack screwed up his eyes and gripped onto the mast as the lashed tore down on his back. Seven… eight… he lost count after that, the pain becoming so immense that he lost the mental strength to continue counting. But he would not let himself scream. He would not give Beckett the pleasure of hearing him scream… not like he did fourteen years ago.

When the bindings strapping him to the mast were released Jack new that he would have fallen save for the rough hands that gripped him suddenly and dragged him back down to the hold.

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Pintel had been found first, unconscious and hidden behind some sacks. Then the cabin had been deserted. And the final piece of evidence had been the jewelled dagger belonging to Jack, left abandoned on the pier.

Gibbs put the information together quickly and knew there was no point in searching Port Colona. "Folks all over the place want Jack, don't they? He won't be here, not now," he told the crewmembers who had returned to the ship. "Ah, here comes Ragetti."

Ragetti boarded the ship, panting and clutching a stitch in his side. He had been sent out to ask dockworkers whether any boats had left the dock in the night. "I asked around I did," he panted to Gibbs. "And a fella down there said he was up most the nigh', saw somethin', he did. Saw a ship suddenly pull anchor an' leave."

"And what was the boat?" Asked Gibbs.

"Ah… somethin… somethin like Dever… he couldn' remember…" Ragetti trailed off.

"Shit and balls," Gibbs swore. "Aye, that would be the HMS Endeavour, captained by that bastard, Lord Cutler Beckett."

"Shit and balls," Marty agreed.

"And they wen' that a way," Ragetti continued, gesturing of to the left hand side of the horizon, glimmering in the fresh morning light.

Gibbs clapped his hands together, coming to a sudden decision. "That makes things easier then. The nearest port then is Port Royal, which Beckett may stop in to get supplies. We have to pray to the Gods that he does. Right, get to your places and," he turned to Ragetti," sort him out, will you?" He pointed behind him at Pintel, still passed out to the deck. "I'll take command here."

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Jack lay on his front to avoid unnecessary pain. Bitterly, he asked himself how he could have been so stupid to let himself be caught. He was paying for it now. He wondered whether his crew would try to find him alone or get help or try to find him at all. _No, _he argued with himself, _I'm sure Gibbs would try to find me. _But he knew that there were very few people who Gibbs could ask to help find him. Jack mentally crossed off those who would never help him. Various pirates who he had screwed over in the past were the first to go. Suddenly, Elizabeth and Will Turner came to mind. _Hmmm… maybe maybe. Will might because I knew his father but I don't thing Lizzie was too keen on poor old me. _He dismissed them anyway because he doubted Gibbs would ever go to Port Royal to find them.

Footsteps on the stairs sharply snapped Jack back to reality and despite his years as a 'notorious' pirate, he felt the fluttering of fear in his stomach. Mercer was back, grinning inanely and brandishing keys to unlock Jack's cell. Jack pushed himself stiffly off the floor, knowing that it was always better to cooperate with this man. No handcuffs we placed round Jack's wrists this time because Mercer handed Jack his shirt which had not been returned to him after his whipping. The hull of the ship was cold so Jack was pleased to be able to shrug the thin shirt over his torso, both for warmth and for dignity. He was sure he was to be taken back to see Beckett and didn't fancy showing off his new collection of scars that he was to thank him for.

Mercer held Jack's elbow in a pincer-like grip and marched him up to the deck and straight across to Beckett's cabin, where he knocked briefly before throwing Jack inside.

This time Beckett stood, waiting for him and pouring small measures of red wine into two glasses. "Please take a seat, Mr Sparrow," he said coolly, bringing the glasses over to his desk, handing Jack one and then sitting behind it. "It would be polite of me now to explain what I'm planning to do with you," he began. "And no, I'm not going to kill you… personally," he added, with a dangerous smile.

Jack narrowed his eyes and took a small sip of the wine. He knew Mercer would only be too happy to kill him but Beckett's tone suggested otherwise. _Anyway_, he thought sullenly, _any delay in the executing process gives me more opportunities to escape, so I won't complain_.

"I'm not sure if you know how much you're worth, Mr Sparrow," said Beckett.

"I'm priceless actually," muttered Jack, suddenly realising what Beckett was planning to do. _I'll bet my left testicle that he is handing me in for ransom money, _the thought. And he was almost right.

"Do you realise," said Beckett, leaning forwards, a mad glint in his eyes, "what I can gain from handing you over to the government? The East India Trading Company would be held responsible for turning in one of the worst pirates in the Caribbean, and in turn, I will be greatly rewarded!"

Jack lifted his eyes in pretend interest, trying to annoy Beckett by his nonchalance. He took another sip of his wine. "So you dispose of me, something you have always wanted and get a promotion? Clever you."

Beckett smiled. "Exactly, clever me," he agreed, ignoring Jack's sarcasm. "I can finally rid the world of you Jack Sparrow because you really do get tiresome. I thought I did that fourteen years ago but clearly not. A mistake on my part, I admit."

"You shouldn't have trusted me to decide my own fate," said Jack. "Where you hoping I would commit suicide… or drink myself to death?" he asked, downing the rest of his wine and grinning at Beckett.

Annoyance flashed across Beckett's face. "I thought that was the least you could do, Mr Sparrow, after the trouble you caused me. If you remember, you lost me in the region of £10,000. I think I was quite lenient, looking back now."

"You sunk my ship and branded me a pirate, _Beckett_," Jack spat, finally giving Beckett the reaction he wanted. "You asked me to do something you knew I wouldn't do."

"Transporting slaves is not the end of the world, Mr Sparrow. It does not take a strong man to do it, just a professional one… I feared you were not a good captain."

"Bullshit!" snapped Jack. "You knew I was a good captain for you. But you were jealous of me, weren't you?" he added, smirking.

Now it was Beckett who's face contorted into anger as Jack continued.

"I always sensed it but never knew why. You had the position, the money, the titles-"

"You had Josephine!" Beckett shouted, standing up in his sudden fury and pointing a shaking finger in Jack's face. Realising what he had said, his fury evaporated and was replaced with embarrassment with he covered up by straightening his coat and sitting back down.

Jack didn't say anything… couldn't say anything. Josephine was a name he hadn't spoken of or tried to think about for years. The mere mention of it nearly brought back the misery and pain he now associated with it but he fought the feeling back to stay calm in front of Beckett. If he was expecting a rebuke, Jack was now unable to say anything coherent. "I…" he started, but couldn't say anything at all. He focused on his empty wine glass, shaking in his hand.

Beckett cleared his throat. "Mercer!" he called out, now urgent for Jack to be gone from his cabin. He knew he had said too much to show his own feelings, something he didn't want to do in front of a man he hated and always had.

Mercer entered silently and seized Jack's arm again, pulling him up to leave. Looking back, Jack saw Beckett shuffling papers on his desk, calm and composed already. He knew he looked the same on the outside, but inside he was tearing himself apart with memories he had always strive to suppress.

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I know this may be confusing but I'll be filling in the gaps in the next chapter so you'll understand Jack's past better… I think.


	3. Past and Present

The day had been beautiful, although Jack always remembered India that way

The day had been beautiful, although Jack always remembered India that way. Mangalore had been especially lovely, with tall palm tree and lush public gardens, well maintained from the strict rule of the British government.

_Jack always remembered the way the harsh sunlight of the strong Indian sun had been diluted by the leaves overhead and fell, splattering on the rough track which led from the field by the school rooms to the top of the hill above Mangalore. He had preferred to walk home from school that way when he had been about eight because it was quieter, a place where he could think and watch small, colourful birds flit among the slender tree trunks. After that age, the excitement that drew other well-off boys to the slum end of town drew him too and he abandoned his secret route home._

_It had been on this idyllic path that he had first seen her, crouched in the earth and peering intently at the ground, wicker basket laying abandoned beside her. As he approached, she had looked up, alarmed, but had then relaxed as she saw that Jack was only child, like her. _

_Jack stopped in front of her, curious as to why she was crouched. "What are you looking at?" he asked in English, although you could never be too sure what language people in a busy EITC port like Mangalore spoke. _

"_A mouse," she answered quietly._

_Jack crouched down too, to look closer at a mouse which still on the ground between them. "Is it alive," he whispered, not wanting to disturb the girls' peace._

"_I don't think so," she whispered back, " it keeps twitching so I think it's just scared. I told it not to be though."_

"_It can't understand English, I don't think," said Jack, bending closer to the mouse, close enough to see its chest moving quickly as it breathed. "It can only speak mouse- and it is alive. I can see it's breathing."_

_He stood up, bored of the mouse now. "I'm Jonathon," he said smartly, the way he'd been taught to introduce himself by his mother. "But you can call me Jack," he added, something which his mother had not taught him to say. _

_The girl stood up too, shaking her skirt straight and picking up her basket. "I'm Josephine, but everyone still calls me Josephine. It was my grandmother's name. She was French," she added proudly._

"_Really?" asked Jack as they both started walking together the way Jack had been walking, towards the town. "My mother is French!" he smiled, excited to find someone a bit like him on his walk home, "And she taught me how to speak it."_

"_Oh, my grandmother died a long time ago so she could never teach it to me."_

"_What about you're parents?" asked Jack._

"_My father died a long time ago too, when I was a baby," said Josephine although she didn't look sad._

_Jack had been to young to realise that he should have apologised for bringing the topic up but he ploughed on. "My parents are still alive."_

"_That must be nice," said Josephine, swinging her basket along beside her._

_Jack picked up a long thin stick and poked it at things as they passed. "Mother is quite sick though. She doesn't talk to me very much any more because she gets too tired. It gets quite boring at home." He paused as a brilliant idea came to him. "You should come to my house to play after school!" he cried, wanting to play more with his new friend._

_Josephine smiled at the thought too and agreed that that would be a fine idea. _

_They walked together, talking of school and their houses (Josephine was taught at their house by her mother, who had been a governess in England before she married a wealthy ship builder and had moved to India) and of adventures they could have. Although Jack had lots of school friends, it excited him that he could have one to himself, that no one else knew at all. _

_So that was how they met; on a beautiful summer day in Mangalore over a scared mouse when they were eight._

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It pained Jack to think of this part of his life now, locked, aching and bruised in a cell on the HMS Endeavour. Beckett's secret ran through his head, "you had Josephine…you had Josephine… you had Josephine," to a point where he was glad when he heard the jangling of Mercer's keys signalling some sort of punishment that was to come. Any physical pain was nothing compared to the mental anguish and guilt that came when he thought of Josephine.

Mercer unlocked the cell door and beckoned Jack through it. As Jack heaved himself up onto weak legs and made his way to Mercer, he was swiftly twisted round and his hands were cuffed behind his back. He followed Mercer quietly, trying to ignore his stomach, aching with hunger and the sharp pains as his freshly healed back moved. He hoped food would follow whatever was to come.

Mercer didn't lead him up to the deck this time but took him to a small room along from the crew's quarters. Here, he knocked briskly on the worn wood and waited for a reply.

A short, balding man answered the door and looked Jack up and down, eyebrows raised. "So this is the infamous Jack Sparrow, is it?" he asked in a Middle-class English accent. "He's shorter than I imagined."

Jack ignored the remark. He had worse things to worry about, he thought as he looked over the man's shoulder into the room behind him and realised that he must be the ship's surgeon. The room contained a chest of drawers with a tray of polished medical equipment on it, a clean and polished wooden table for operating and on this stood a shallow basin of water. Before it sat a chair.

"This is the man," said Mercer, a faint smirk gracing his lips before he added menacingly, "He's all yours."

The short man nodded for Jack to follow him into the room, which Jack did, a sense of foreboding creeping up on him with every step. The door shut and was locked behind him. He turned in time to see the short man tuck the key into his trouser pocket.

"I'm Mr Collins," the man said as he crossed to open the cabin window slightly, allowing a fresh breath of air into the slightly claustrophobic space. "The ship's surgeon, as you may have guessed."

"I worked it out," Jack replied dryly. "Although I can't see why I'm here."

Mr Collins nodded to the chair, indicating for Jack to sit. "You're here for a little _hair cut_."

"What?" From anything Jack had expected, this was the furthest from it. "Why? I was expecting some sort of torture."

Mr Collins looked faintly annoyed and he steered Jack to the chair and draped a large cloth over his shoulders, pulling his hair to lie on top of it. "We're company men, Mr Sparrow," he said, "Not pirates. We don't do that sort of torture here."

Jack snorted, thinking of the whipping he had received for no reason before. But he didn't say anything. _If I do he might shave me. _

Mr Collins pushed Jack's head forward so his chin was on his chest and fumbled to undo the bandana knot. Once it was off, he set to work untying and cutting off the various beads and trinkets adorning Jack's hair. He set to work silently, placing the beads in a small bowl on the chest of drawers. Then he pulled out a sharp knife and Jack felt large locks of hair fall to his shoulders. Collins chose to cut Jack's dreadlocks short first and when he had worked round his head, he lay the knife down and pulled Jack's head back so it was doused in the bowl of water.

Jack closed his eyes as Collins kneaded his scalp to loosen his hair further. He then rubbed soap in and rinsed. This was something Jack hadn't done properly since becoming a pirate before. Then he took out a pair of barber's scissors and cut Jack's looser locks much shorter. "Nearly done," Mr Collins said, reviving Jack who had been enjoying the massage.

Now he turned to Jack's face and took out a razor. "Chin up," he said.

Jack didn't bother to argue and although he had been wary at first, he now was half looking forward to seeing his new face.

Mr Collins lathered up Jack's cheeks and chin and proceeded to shave him with an expert hand. Once he had finished and had cleaned Jack's face, he stood back to admire his work. "I would never recognise you," he said, before turning away to the door. "I'm getting Mercer now," he said before leaving and locking the door behind him.

After Jack had heard his footsteps retreating down the corridor, he stood up uneasily and crossed to the mirror on the wall behind him. He could barely recognise the face staring back at him. He hated it.

It was the face he had had when it happened.

The face he had changed so much to try and leave his guilt behind.

But the guilt and sadness was back now and it was all Beckett's fault. Jack wondered whether Beckett knew what this 'hair cut' meant to Jack, and he hated him even more for it.

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Feeling very odd without the weight of his hair and the feel of it over his shoulders, Jack had been led back out onto the deck by Mercer. He expected to be taken straight back down to the brig so he was surprised when Mercer let him go, leaving him standing freely.

Jack took the opportunity to quickly look around at the horizon for land, but noticed members of the crew approaching him and was worried by the varying looks of hatred in their eyes. He swallowed down the growing fear he felt spreading from his stomach and plastered on a false look of confidence and carelessness which he had mastered over the years.

He looked to Mercer, who smiled grimly, then turned and disappeared through the doors leading to Beckett's quarters.

Jack clenched jaw and watched him secret panic as the fine, French doors shut behind him. His attention was immediately caught by a huge brutish sailor lumbering across the deck towards him and it was while his gaze was glued to this animal that the first blow was struck. Someone behind him threw so much force into the punch which smashed into Jack's cheek, that his head whipped round and he stumbled to the side. He tried to bring up his shackled hands to numbly touch his face, but the sailor in front of him pushed him violently back. Jack only just managed to keep his balance. His head racing and his cheek smarting, he tried to turn away but found himself face to face with the huge man he had noticed before. Midday sweat poured down the man's face and neck into his uniform, which was stretched over his chunky torso.

Jack couldn't hide the fear in his eyes but managed to keep his head up to stare the man in the eye. His chest lurched with uneasy breathing. He could hear his pulse beating in his ear and the heavy breathing of the man in front of him. Suddenly with no warning, the man seized the front of his shirt and slammed him into the mast behind him. Jack cried out as something metal dug painfully into his back. The man slammed him back again.

He shoved his face into Jack's, almost nose to nose and spat out, "Jack fucking Sparrow, I knew it was you. You fucked my sister, you whorish bastard!"

_Shit, _was all Jack had time to think before he was thrown sideways, barely able to break his fall and landed heavily. With no time to move, Jack felt a booted foot smash strongly into his stomach and again into his face as he failed to curl up into a ball. He felt more and more crewmembers join in the fight, kicking and punching him. Hot blood poured heavily from his nose and onto his arms as he managed to get them up to cover his face. He was dimly aware of someone stamping down on his head and body.

And suddenly there was less shouting, and strong arms pulling him up. He couldn't see. The blood was stinging his eyes and in his mouth. He felt someone drag him away and below deck.

That had been several hours before. Now, Jack was alone, slumped in the brig. He had wiped much of the blood of his face but it was pointless as although his nose had stopped bleeding, every time he moved his mouth, his lip would split open again. And his head throbbed even when still. He tried not to think about what they had done to him but lamented instead on who this man's sister was. _If she looked anything like him, then I must have been very drunk._

He also tried to work out where he was. He knew they were in some sort of port due to the sounds, which drifted to him in the hold of the ship. Even though he was under the water line, the odd loud sound reached him. At first, he had thought the ship was under attack when he heard shouting, but as he felt the ship bump gently into something hard, he realised they must be moored to a pier. He couldn't even make an educated guess where they were because he wasn't really sure how long he had been a captive or what direction they had sailed in. he decided that for whatever reason they had docked, it wasn't anything to do with him

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He was, unfortunately wrong.

They had indeed docked in Port Royal, residence of Lord Wilson, director of the East India Trading Company in the Caribbean. Beckett knew that being in the possession of the notorious Jack Sparrow could easily sway any decision for a promotion in his rank towards him. So he was smug in the knowledge that he was about to become the favourite.

He hired a horse and carriage and drove up to Lord Wilson's residence alone, leaving the Endeavour docked in the charge or Mercer. Lord Wilson lived in an imposing mansion with splendid views over the harbour, and Beckett was received warmly when he knocked.

"Cutler Beckett, isn't it?" asked Lord Wilson, shaking Beckett warmly by the hand. "Come into the study. Sherry? Brandy?"

"Port, if you have it Lord," said Beckett, glancing round at the finely furnished room uninterested. He had much greater things on his mind.

Lord Wilson poured out two glasses of port and motioned for Beckett to take a seat by the French Windows overlooking the manicured garden. He sat himself and asked, "So, for what reason do I owe this pleasure? I matter of importance, I gather?"

"A matter of_ great_ importance, my Lord," said Beckett smugly.

"Good news, I hope?"

"Oh yes, good news indeed." Beckett took a sip of his port before continuing. "I was stopping off for supplies in Port Colona only two nights ago, when I heard curious tale of an infamous ship in port, my Lord. A ship of great importance to the Company and to my especially. It was the Black Pearl."

He noted happily the Lord Wilson sat up straighter at this, suddenly all business.

"Naturally, I investigated and it was true. And guess who was Captain?"

"Jack Sparrow," Lord Wilson murmured.

"Well, naturally I knew that I could not let this opportunity slip through my fingers so I caught him, unarmed. It was too easy."

"And you still have him?"

"He is in the brig on the Endeavour as we speak."

Lord Wilson stood and looked out of the window to the distant harbour thoughtfully. "I trust you, Cutler," he said. "This man caused me great irritation in the past as he did to you. He will rot in prison for the rest of his days. But not this prison." He turned back to Beckett, businesslike once more. "We simply haven't the room but you're in luck. There is a Navy ship destined for New Portsmouth and I have placed some prisoners in the brig of that ship already, to be relocated. Sparrow can go with them and hopefully, we will never have to deal with him again."

"That sounds perfect," nodded Beckett in agreement. He would be rid of Sparrow for good, one last blow that he would never be able to recover from.

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"_I'm sorry, she's gone to rest with the Father," the doctor had said, leading Teague away from the darkened bedroom. _

_Jack was left standing alone on the landing, staring at the delicate shape of his mother on the bed, covered by a plain white sheet._

_He suddenly screamed, more of a howl, letting his grief and anger at his mother's death pour from him in. His face was screwed up in agony as he slumped to his knees on the carpet, only to find himself pulled into his father's embrace. They sat together, sobbing in the moonlight. _

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Beckett decided to walk back to the HMS Endeavour to enjoy the weather and bask in his good fortune. Jack Sparrow would be free to endure living hell in the New Portsmouth jail, leaving him free to enjoy his promotion and extend the reaches of the East India Trading Company.

He strode purposefully down the steep hill to the harbour, listening to the sounds of the port floating up to him on the light breeze. He walked quickly through the town, eager to pass Jack on to the new captain on his way to New Portsmouth. He paused to peer through the window of a tailor to admire a finely woven shirt, noting that he could go back to buy it if he hurried and got rid of Jack first.

On the Endeavour, he called for Mercer in his quarters and relayed the news of his talk with Lord Wilson and the plan to pass Jack on.

"Lord Wilson has arranged for a crewmember on this other ship to collect Sparrow any minute now. We can leave port after that, but in the meantime I'll leave it to you to make sure the ship is sufficiently stocked. I saw a shirt that took my fancy in the town and might purchase it," said Beckett, retrieving his purse from a desk drawer. "I'll be back within the hour. Sparrow should be gone by then."

Mercer nodded and left just ahead of Beckett, who returned to shore and marched up the jetty and into town. He found the tailors quickly, not wanting to bump into any familiar faces and be held up with polite talk. As he went to open the door of the shop, it opened from the inside and a woman came out, almost bumping into him.

"I'm so sorry," she said, fumbling with the paper bound package in her hands and trying to edge round Beckett, who suddenly seized her arm and pulled her round to face him.

Their eyes both widened, hers in horror and his in shock, as they recognised each other.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

"Josephine!" Becket cried, his shock turning swiftly to anger. He pulled her away from the shop. "But you're dead…don't struggle," he added in an undertone. "Come with me, or it will be worse for you."

She dropped the package to the floor, fear and loathing in her eyes and tried look decent as she was dragged towards the docks.

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I hope that explained things more. Reviews desperately needed though so I know how it sounds.


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